Like Riding a Bike
by swastini
Summary: ... you never forget. No matter how badly you want to. Conrad/pretty much everyone
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to vert-is-ninja, a.k.a. Tessa Stone. _

**Like Riding A Bike**

**Uno:  
**

His first time – and seriously, fuck his life forever for this – is with Worth.

Fucking _Worth_.

It happens – and seriously, he should have seen this coming – on a blood run, somewhere in the middle of the night; he staggers through Worth's door (always unlocked, like he was fucking_ inviting_ him in, and, oh god, maybe he _was_) really weak and really, very _fucking hungry_ – he hasn't eaten in a month, hasn't seen Worth in a month, has been trying not to, but he always _come back_, like a moth to a flame,_ goddamnit_, and he _hates _himself for it – so maybe it's a bad thing when walks into the room and sees the fucking hack _bleeding _all over himself andohfuckhe'ssoHUNGRY.

The next hour or so is a blur.

(of slapping skin and twisting bodies: he's lunges forward, reaches for Worth's wrists, where the blood is flowing the fastest – and shouldn't that be worrying? – but Worth anticipates it, the sneaky bastard, and grabs onto his shoulders and slams him against the table with surprising force for a man probably fucking bleeding to death, and says, says: _you do something for me and i'll do something for you, puppy_. and he says: _yes, oh god,_ yesyesyes_ anything please just, fuck please._ and Worth smirks and slides a hand up his shirt and fuck it, he's_ gone_ – )

The next morning, he wakes up full. With a _hurting ass_.

Oh _fuck_.

* * *

**A/N: Part one of... five? I think, for now. God, Conrad entertains me way too much to be healthy. (This is best read while listening to 'Elephant Bones' by That Handsome Devil)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Like Riding a Bike**

**Dos:**

His second time – um, he doesn't really know whether to count this as his, uh,_ second_ time? Or maybe second-and-a-half-or-perhaps-third?

Fuck_,_ this is_ so embarrassing_.

They're at a bar, all of them – Hanna, Zombie, Veser, Ples, Toni, even fucking Worth (who he can't even, urgh, _look at_ now, god) – and a new guy. New Guy introduces himself as Lamont Toucey, how do you do, with a slow, drawling smile and a firm, warm handshake that may or may not be _kind of sexy_. Goddamnit, he can almost see himself blushing like a LITTLE FUCKING GIRL, god – _he hates himself_ – but Lamont just smiles that smile and runs a hand through slicked-back hair, and gives him _that look_ beneath hooded eyelids and says: _it's really nice to meet you, Conrad_.

But that's not the _embarrassing part_ yet.

The embarrassing part is when he gets _completely fucking _smashed_ out of his goddamn mind._

He knows he shouldn't be able to drink, but he orders a glass of something (too strong for him, fuck, _he should have been more careful_) anyway, just out of habit. Somewhere, as the night drags on, he forgets himself and takes a sip.

Funnily enough, this _doesn't_ make him feel like puking.

(meanwhile, at the back of the bar, Worth is slipping an empty bag of O-type blood back into his jacket, looking very pleased at himself)

Maybe more than a few sips later, he's dancing on the table singing along _to the fucking Kooks_. He doesn't actually recall doing this, no. But Hanna has a _fucking camcorder_.

(the next day, he watches in horror on Hanna's beat-up laptop, as he clambers up onto the table, drink in hand, _shaking his ass like some sort of stripper_ – and OH FUCK, he's on his FUCKING HANDS AND KNEES now, spilling drinks over, giggling and humming off-key; the bar cheers him on in drunken glee as he crawls over to _Lamont_, of all fucking people – who's kind of laughing now, albeit very nervously – before landing in a heap in the man's lap. and then he's draping his arms around the other man's neck, whispering into Lamont's ear, _mmhmm, you're looking very sex~y , Mr. Toucey_, scraping his fang against sensitive skin, and Lamont places a hand on either side of his waist and shifts in his seat, still laughing and looking very uncomfortable in _those tight pants_ his thigh is rubbing up against and – )

And god _fuck it_, he can't even recall leaving the goddamned bar. But what he does recall is being vaguely pushed towards the direction of a door, then pushed into a room, then the door being slammed closed before firm, warm hands shove him up against a wall, before having _his fucking life_ kissed out of him.

And he can hear it – a low, strained voice murmuring into his ear: _fuck, I don't know, but – hell, you don't jump a guy like that and expect him to be able to walk away, you know_? And he's wrapping his arms around Lamont's stocky frame (solid and stable and _so fucking sexy_ and everything the only other man he's ever held like this _isn't_), and they're kissing, hard and fast – Lamont kneads the front of his pants with his knee and he whimpers, all _high-pitched_ and _needy_, and Lamont hisses: _ah,_ _fucking hell, Conrad_ – and those hands are trailing down his back, fingers dancing round the hem of his pants – uncertain, but wanting, oh god, _wanting_ so fucking bad, the both of them – and they_ grind_ against each other – and oh god, it feels _so good_, the fucking_ friction_, and – and he moans: _Worth_.

Lamont jumps back like coiled spring, and stares.

'Luce? You and him – '

A voice by the door answers.

'Oh, don' lemme stop ya. 'S a good show.'

(at some point, Lamont marches to the door and grabs Worth by the collar, leaving him kind of slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, and for a while they're arguing: _goddamnit you ass, didn't you say he was single why the hell_ _didn't you tell me he was your…urgh, boyfriend_?, boyfrien' ya fuckin' kiddin' right? jes 'cause we fucked once don' make us dating, _well, HE seems to think otherwise – what am i supposed to do now Luce? he's just, fuck, he's THERE and I've got a fucking hard-on_, heh, don' matter ta me, 's not like I'm mindin' it, go 'head_, but_, hey 'f you won't I will)

And Worth is swooping down on him, and his hands are warm too, maybe even a little too warm, but fuck, _don't they feel good _as one of them shoves down the front of his pants – grabbing hold of his cock, enticing an '_ah_' through gritted teeth, coarse fingertips stroking pre-cum from the tip – and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lamont kind of just standing there, looking_ very_ conflicted, before Worth smirks (_that fucking smirk,_ fuck he hates it loves it wants it) and says:

'Well, come 'n join the party.'

And Lamont _growls_ like some kind of fucking_ animal_ and _fuck_, that's hotter than it should be, and suddenly there're two pairs of hands on his body – directing him towards the bed, Worth in front of him, Lamont behind. And the hand pumping his cock is going faster and one, two, _three_ fingers slip inside him in quick succession, and he throws his head back and Lamont murmurs: _Conrad, Conrad_ against his hair and Worth leans forward to kiss him – and god, he can taste tobacco and alcohol and blood and_ Worth_, and he says: _more_ and Worth, _for once in his fucking life_ probably, actually responds –

Then it's really _does _become all a blur.

Except he wakes up _naked_ the next morning – his head aching like a motherfucker, his jaw _hurting _and ass fucking _throbbing_ – in between two very warm, equally naked bodies: one to his front, a man with dirty blonde hair, wiry arms wrapped around his torso possessively, and one to his back, another man with darker hair, snoring lightly against the nape of his neck, legs tangled up with his – and OH FUCK.

(Lamont and Worth wake up a few seconds later, as he expresses his sentiments very vocally; Worth scoffs and shoves him into Lamont's waiting arms, turning to the bed table to get a cigarette and – and _oh fucking god,_ where is he? the room he's in looks too nice to be Worth's and not nice enough to be his, so it must be – Lamont gives a sheepish chuckle, placing a hand on his thigh, which shuts him up a little, before saying: _um, sorry. this must be kind of awkward for you? I, uh, didn't know you guys were… involved?_ Worth scoffs even harder, and Lamont squeezes his thigh and says:_ but last night was fucking great, you should know_)

_And that is the most embarrassing part_.

(though Lamont is still very sexy)

* * *

**A/N: Is it just me or would Conrad and Lamont look, yanno - really good together? Yes, no? God, I think_ started_ this story just to write this chapter. (Btw, the Kook's song mentioned in the story is Always Where I'll Need To Be, which you should listen to while reading the story)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Like Riding a Bike**

**Tres:**

His third time (or fourth, whatever) is the determining factor.

Of his already very dubious sexuality.

Naturally, this makes it more humiliating than all of his previous (and future, to think of it) sexual encounters _fucking put together_. The fact that it is with _Toni _– the one woman (apart from his mom) most capable of making him look like a WHINY PANSY ARTFAG – kind of makes it _worse_.

There really isn't any way to approach the situation normally, or logically, so one evening, when Hanna and the rest of the gang have retired from a night out on the town, he offers to drive Toni home – only to be reminded that the sun is rising in ten minutes, and honestly, there'll hardly be time to drive himself home, let alone her, so about he crashes at her place today? (god, why is he such a fail at EVERYTHING, nrrggh) He says thanks, and they drive back together, chatting amiably, in a way that may be _comfortable_ even, except he spends the last two and half minutes of the trip realizing (_the fucking hard way_, as per usual) that the sun is set to, in fact, rise three minutes _earlier_ than expected: he speeds down the rest of road screaming '' and gets out of the car as soon as they reach the building, before running – shrieking like a little girl, clutching boiling patches of exposed skin – to the safety of Toni's (mercifully dark) apartment.

Toni tentatively walks in a few minutes later, closing the door gently behind her – and finds him huddled in a ball in the darkest corner of the living room. She gives the sigh of someone who has had a lot of experience with traumatized vampires, and says: I'll get the calamine lotion.

Three hours of careful lotion application and _maybe-just-a-little-crying_ on his part (see! WHINY. PANSY. ARTFAG.) later, Toni giggles and drops down on the couch, next to him. 'All done.' she exclaims, her bi-colored ponytail bobbing in delight. 'Now, is there anything you want to say, Mr. Achenleck?'

He supposes it's either now or never at that point, and kisses her.

There's a moment of stillness. Toni doesn't kiss _back_, but she doesn't push him away either. He takes that as a good sign, but pulls away anyway, quickly turning to look anything that_ isn't_ her face. Toni gives that _sigh_ again.

'I was expecting a thank you, but I suppose that's alright too.' Silence.

(god, god, god it feels like he's swallowed his tongue or something – )

'Lemme guess. You've screwed couple of guys, and it felt pretty good. But you've never liked men before that, and you _think_ you're straight, or at least just _really_ confused. And now you're unsure about your orientation. Yes?' He can't do much else but nod.

(h-how does she – )

'So now you're using me as a kind of… sexual litmus paper? Am I right?'

(holy fuck SHE'S A MINDREADING WEREWOLF – )

'WHAT. I mean, NO – _how do you even_ – but,_ no_, I d-didn't mean it. Like _that_. When you put it _that_ way – ' he manages to stammer – and fuck, he _does_ sound like a dick when she puts it that way – but Toni puts a slim finger to his mouth, and he shuts up.

'Shh. Don't worry, hun. I get this a lot.' Toni gives a devious smile – and are her incisors sharp _or what_, holy hell – and places a hand on his chest. 'I'm in the theater business.'

* * *

_About _56 minutes later, Toni is lying in her bed, her arms propped up behind her head. He lies next to her.

(and the sheets are pulled up to his face, and he may-or-may-not-be-crying-AGAIN)

Toni 'hmms' contemplatively.

'That was definitely a 4. Maybe even a 5.' She throws a quick glance over to his whimpering form, and frowns. 'Okay. Maybe not a 5. But definitely a 4. And a half, even.' She adds.

Though honestly, it hardly makes him feel better.

(oh god, he better fucking BE gay, he's never going through _that_ again)

Then:

'We should probably be getting some cream for those scratches I gave you, huh? They shouldn't scar. Maybe.'

_Oh fucking god._

Please be gay.

PLEASE.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry Toni! You might be a little too... _much_ for our poor Conrad here. Read to AFI's Miss Murder. I think it's fitting. (Please review!)**


End file.
